Because my brother misheard a name and this just happened.

The Butler

He is hers. Body, soul, mind; in any way he can serve her, he will. That is his role in life, in all of existence. He is beholden to her. He has done some strange things at her insistence, on her order, at her whim. Some of them are of questionable morality or fall somewhere in that funny little grey area where the law doesn't quite reach. Most of them are the kinds of saintly activities one would expect her to be involved in.

He is dedicated to her in every way. He carries out her every request. And he never questions her word.

But that's not to say he doesn't perform other tasks.

Occasionally, he would dabble in jobs that weren't requested of him. Maybe they were loose ends, or frayed edges that unexpectedly arose. Maybe they were of a more personal nature, close to his heart – such as it was. Whichever classification they could fall under, they brought him to this.

And running a business of his own while lending his indomitable aid to another was quite the spectacular challenge. Success was a marvellous feat, if he did say so himself. And he was quite successful at that.

Of course, there was just one problem.

His line of work was in direct opposition to hers.

She didn't know about his extra-curricular activities, naturally, but should she ever find out he could only imagine the fall out. That would be something to witness. Cataclysmic and beautiful both.

Consequently, his apathetic façade trembled, cracked a little, when that tall detective came a-calling one clear spring morning. He pulled the door in, fully expecting a delivery that day, just not of the sort he was met by. This was honestly the least enjoyable way to lead off his day.

"Sup, Butler," the detective said, chewing a wad of gum. "Is the good doctor here?"

He blinked, trying to contain the natural instinct to panic when greeted by the law. "In her study," he replied softly, stepping aside. It could only be hoped that the detective would disregard him, as usual, and focus her attentions on the woman she was here to see. And she was so good at focusing in this area. "Wipe your feet and use manners."

She chuckled, throwing him a lazy smirk. "I suppose I can try," she taunted. "Since you asked so nicely and all." She waved him off, knowing how to get to the study. Well she should, she'd walked that path more times than he could count.

He frowned after her, of the honest opinion that she spent far too much time with his mistress. Just this once – in breach of his rigid code of ethics – he trailed her down the hall to the study door. She went in. He stopped in the doorway.

The detective was met by a cheerful, "Marceline! You didn't tell me you were stopping by."

"Oof! Ease up there, doc," Marceline teased. "No need to strangle me."

"What's the occasion?"

The sound of papers shuffling whispered to the doorway. "New case. Folks have been dying from overdoses but our techs don't know what the mixture is. Possibly some sort of new drug."

More quiet sounds; no doubt his mistress was leafing through the papers now. He could picture her frowning, glasses sliding down her nose. "You want me to identify it then, yes?"

"I didn't want to ask, Bonnie," Marceline murmured. "But there are nearly thirty deceased already. Any more and we won't be able to contain the press and we'll have riots. Per your butler's instructions, I'm using manners. Will you please help?"

There was a pause then, before he heard Bonnie sigh – more from amusement than frustration, he thought. "Of course. Let me just grab my coat. Do I have to worry about your techs calling it something silly again? Wasn't the last one called Ooze?"

"They're overly enthusiastic, apologies," Marceline groaned. "And yes. They've dubbed this one because of how it smells. Apparently the new intern called it Toothpaste but it didn't catch on. So… now they're calling it Peppermint."

Bonnie laughed wryly. "How catchy."

"Don't encourage them."

He slithered back from the door, feet shuffling. This was definitely not good. Hastening silently down the hall, he pulled out his phone, punching in a number.

"Gary speaking," his distribution manager muttered into the phone.

"This is the Butler. We have containment to do."

Apologies to Mr Gerard Butler whose name was the offender. My bro heard 'Drug Butler' and now he's a criminal mastermind. I'm so sorry.